


accolade

by fuwaesthetic



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2019-05-31 03:01:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15110453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuwaesthetic/pseuds/fuwaesthetic
Summary: He's dressed in chainmail that shines as bright as the moon; his shaggy chestnut hair is tied neatly back with a red ribbon to match the red of his tabard. A pair of white and gold lions do battle on the front and the back of it—the royal crest, Akira dimly realizes—and the golden hilt of his sword glimmers when he kneels in front of the king. Akechi lifts his head slowly to regard their king, mahogany eyes sharp and the Adam's apple of his throat prominently bared, and Akira temporarily forgets how to do anything but stare.





	accolade

**Author's Note:**

> i took part in a shuake zine (no more lies) a while back and just remembered to post my entry to it! thank you to everyone who supported the project, and for everyone else, i hope you enjoy this piece.

He's not supposed to be here. Well, he _is,_ but he's not supposed to be so close to the actual ceremony; he's not supposed to be close enough to see the king and queen, and the king's several beautiful concubines. No, he's supposed to be with the other witches in the back, with knights breathing down their necks and merely permitting them to be there to recognize their newest leash-holder. Akira doesn't care though—he knows exactly who's supposed to be getting his accolades today, and he feels his breath wind tighter and tighter in his chest as he continues his hand motions for his invisibility spell. The stinging pain from the slice on his ring finger is barely a distraction now, and the blood evaporates before it hits the floor thanks to the magic he's focused in the air with his gestures.

The chatter and hum of stringed instruments slowly quiets as the king rises, his hand in the air. Akira's gaze darts to the side and he chances moving closer, scooting around the column and stopping short of a familiar-looking lady-knight. She tenses up, giving where he stands a look, but doesn't say anything, and Akira wills his heart to soften its blows against his chest. It's a futile effort, because they start up again, harder and faster, when Akechi steps through the parted crowd.

He's dressed in chainmail that shines as bright as the moon; his shaggy chestnut hair is tied neatly back with a red ribbon to match the red of his tabard. A pair of white and gold lions do battle on the front and the back of it—the royal crest, Akira dimly realizes—and the golden hilt of his sword glimmers when he kneels in front of the king. Akechi lifts his head slowly to regard their king, mahogany eyes sharp and the Adam's apple of his throat prominently bared, and Akira temporarily forgets how to do anything but stare.

"I've heard from your instructors," the king says, the low timbre of his voice ringing through the silent hall, "as well as the knight training you that you've been doing exceptionally well for yourself, Goro Akechi. They seem to think you're ready to be knighted. What do you have to say to that?"

Akechi's mouth opens and Akira subconsciously leans in to hear him, his gestures growing tighter to make up for the intrusion into other people's personal space.

"I'm not," Akechi replies, then lowers his head in deference, voice bereft of anything but calm. "I'm simply ready to pledge myself to my king."

A look of scorn passes over Akechi's face as he says it, but it's so brief, Akira feels like he must have imagined it. The king takes a moment to consider his answer, then laughs and turns to one of his servants. He takes the sword offered to him, running his fingers along its sharp, bladed length, and adjusts his grip on the jeweled hilt. He makes a show of lowering it to Akechi's shoulder, and Akira catches the look of surprise on Akechi's face when it scrapes up the side of his throat gently—he'd noticed, too, that he used the edge of the blade instead of the flat of it. Akechi remains still as the king does the same to the other side of his throat and bids him to rise; only then does he look back up, expression a smile stretched thinly on his lips.

"Consider your pledge accepted, Sir Akechi." The king returns his sword to his servant, and Akechi stands, though he bows a moment later. "I hope that you will serve me well."

"I swear on my honor that I will." Akechi lays a hand over his heart as he straightens up, and Akira watches his eyes dart to one of the younger concubines when the king turns his attention to the rest of the crowd. The woman offers him a brief smile before she glances away, and Akechi's shoulders shake.

Akira slips back to the rest of the witches and convinces their guards to let them eat; the head witch nods his thanks once the knights acquiesce. They're given a rickety table full of holes and what amounts to leftovers, but it's still richer than what they're usually able to get, at least as far as the meat is concerned. It's delicious and melts in his mouth, and Akira finds himself licking his fingers like a child after every bite, washing it down with fragrant red wine. He's too distracted to notice the murmurs behind him, but not distracted enough to completely choke on his drink when Akechi takes up the seat beside him; he's on the edge of the bench, so Akira moves a little to give him some more room, and Akechi smiles in gratitude.

"It was very risky of you to be up there," he murmurs in his ear; Akira hums, aware of the fact, though he frowns after a moment. Akechi chuckles, leaning in closer. "You don't think I don't know how your magic feels after all these years, Akira? You underestimate me."

Akira finishes his cup of wine in several hearty gulps and sets it down with a point of finality. Akechi raises his eyebrows, but doesn't comment further; he only offers his hand, and Akira drops his gaze to the heart and love lines he's traced a dozen times before he takes it.

They sneak out to the gardens under the guise of a knight escorting a witch prone to fainting and in need of fresh air. Akechi pushes him to sitting in one of the flowering gazebos, roses of all colors and sizes in full bloom around them, and tilts his chin up when he kisses him. It's sweeter than their others, and Akira realizes in that instance, it's because whatever reason Akechi had for inviting him out here isn't going to be one he's going to like. He kisses back though, pulling him down to sit with him, and he holds hands so calloused and rough and so unlike his own, so unlike the ones he had held so many years ago for the first time, when he was still a simple squire and _he_ was still technically a witch in training. Akechi's the first to pull away, as he always is, but he's reluctant; he still hovers close, his breath ghosting over wet lips.

"We can't meet anymore," he says softly, and Akira immediately feels indignant. Akechi can't meet his eyes; his gaze drops between them and their laced fingers instead. "Not like this. I can't keep turning a blind eye to you and your friends either."

"That's only what you think," Akira retorts, and he gently pulls one of his hands free to lift Akechi's chin and hold it there; Akechi frowns at him, brows knitting together and his own rebuttal plainly on his lips. Akira kisses it away, pushing forward until Akechi has no choice but to pull his other hand away and use both of them to grab him by the shoulders. He doesn't push away though, and Akira considers it a victory, even when _he_ has to pull back a little for air.

He swallows hard at the conflicted look in Akechi's eyes. The quiet song of insects fills the lull as they shift into more comfortable positions, Akira's head tucked beneath Akechi's on his shoulder. The chainmail is warm and hard beneath his cheek, the tabard doing little in the way of comfort, but he doesn't mind. It feels grounding, when the ground's metaphorically giving way bit by bit beneath his feet.

"You knew things wouldn't last, Akira." Akechi's voice is soft and sincere. Akira plays with his hand with a sigh, eyes lidded. "I did, too. I still went along with all of this because I wanted to though, even knowing that. Isn't that enough for you?" A pause where he laughs, quiet and shaky. "Hasn't this been enough? We're adults now, Akira. It's time for us to start acting like we are."

There's some truth there, but Akira knows more about Akechi than anyone else—he knows how to trace his scars in chronological order, he knows how to make him melt like candle wax, he knows what to say to turn him as vibrantly colored as the roses hanging above them. He's heard him gripe about the chores he hates the most, he's felt the wetness of tears on his shoulder, he's tasted salt and snot in an attempt to pacify shaking sobs and night terrors. He knows Akechi prefers lilacs to any other flower in the world and that he breaks out when he gets stung by bees; he knows that Akechi's hands used to be soft and kind and that things had only gotten better the rougher they became, even if he still misses how dainty they'd been.

He knows there's something between him and one of the king's concubines, which isn't something Akechi's ever said, but the look shared between them at his accolade wasn't that of strangers in the slightest. Akira exhales softly and reaches up to play with Akechi's little ponytail, strands of hair tickling his nose uncomfortably as they loosen from the ribbon.

"I didn't realize being an adult meant giving up everything you wanted," Akira answers, equally soft and sincere. Akechi tenses beneath him, but he closes his eyes and ignores the sinking feeling in his stomach. "Is being a knight more important than being happy?"

"I'm happy serving my liege," comes the reply, as if practiced in front of a mirror, and Akira grips Akechi's ponytail and pulls it. Akechi covers his mouth to stifle a pained cry, twisting away and losing his ribbon in the process, and stares hard at his company. Akira stares back, fingers curling slowly around the thin red fabric. _Happier than with me?_ he asks silently, and Akechi's eyes dart away; it's answer enough, still, and his heart aches from it. "I'm sorry, Akira," he whispers, drawing away, "but I think it's for the best. For the both of us."

"I'm keeping this," is all Akira says, waving the ribbon at him; Akechi blinks before he nods slowly, and Akira's fingers shake as he unties the corded necklace around his neck. He lays it in Akechi's hand, the roughly shaped stones tied into the leather shimmering in the dim light, and smiles. "You can have this. Fair trade, right? I know you always liked it."

"It looks better on you." Akechi wraps it around his fingers anyway, lips curved in a small smile, and he leans in to kiss Akira one more time (one more time that ticks longer and longer with every heartbeat, that feels like hours instead of minutes) before he stands. He twists the cord in his hands, looking much younger than his twenty-one years of age, and they make their way back to the hall in silence. Akira settles back into place with the rest of his fellow witches, and Akechi falls into line with the older knights.

He smiles at their comments, but doesn't reach his eyes. Akira wonders if he knows.

 


End file.
